


warmth

by Xine



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Confessions, Developing Relationship, Domestic Bliss, Established Relationship, Generations never happened, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Multi, Old Married McSpirk, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 18:14:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8500129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xine/pseuds/Xine
Summary: His mind going a mile a minute — unable to slow down, no matter how deep he breathes — Jim tries to focus on now, on right here, on this moment. He tries to soak in the feeling of being stuck between the two he's risked death for time and time again, to soak in the solidity of it all, and it works, if only for a few seconds.(A set of vignettes wherein Jim, Spock, and Leonard have retired and begun to build the newest chapter in their lives together.)





	1. I

“Jim, this isn’t gonna work.”

“Sure it will.”

Jim hears Leonard huff in the dark and he can't help but laugh, his breath fluttering the hair resting at the base of Leonard's skull. With his belly brushing against the small of Leonard's back, he can feel the shudder that runs through Leonard in response.

Even though he speaks confidently, as if nothing were wrong, the bubbling anxiety from earlier hasn't resided in spite of his attempts to calm down. He tries to hide it, but Jim knows that Spock is fully aware of his emotional state as an arm comes to rest over his stomach from behind, fingertips faintly brushing the skin just beneath the hem of his sweatshirt.

Emotional transference is both a blessing and a curse.

He just hopes Spock doesn't ask.

Jim continues to fumble with the unzipped sleeping bag, blanketing one side of it over Leonard's form and pulling it down until the edge of it meets the soft insides of the sleeping bag stretched out beneath them. It's a makeshift bed, but it's the best they could do with what they have.

Leonard shifts up against Jim just slightly, the backs of his thighs bumping into Jim's knees. He gulps hard enough that Jim can hear it as clear as day.

Over his shoulder, he hears Spock readjusting his head on the thin pillow before Jim's back becomes flush with the heat of the body behind him. Spock presses as close as comfort allows, his other arm pinned between them as he settles.

Jim keeps his voice low. "Do you have enough of the blanket, Spock?"

With his mouth so close to his ears, Jim can hear Spock's mouth open before he speaks. There's a pause, as if he was deciding to agree on referring to a sleeping bag as a duvet, before he replies, "It will do."

Jim nods faintly, wrapping his arm around Leonard's middle, carefully and perhaps a bit reluctantly.

Silence hovers over them like a dense fog, the only sound being the wind as it whistles by, the currents rattling the thin material of the tent into a faint ambiance. Their breathing scatters amongst the outside noise, uneven and out of sync.

His mind going a mile a minute — unable to slow down, no matter how deep he breathes — Jim tries to focus on now, on right here, on this moment. He tries to soak in the feeling of being stuck between the two he's risked death for time and time again, to soak in the solidity of it all, and it works, if only for a few seconds.

He wonders how he never noticed just how warm Spock is, how searingly hot the pads of his fingers seem on his stomach as they rest quietly below his navel. Vulcans run hot — it's a fact he's known for years yet hadn't fully understood until this moment, Spock's body so close it feels like fire lapping at his back.

He wonders how he never noticed just how thin Leonard — his Bones — is, how prominently his ribs jut out from his body, how stark they feel even beneath a thick cotton shirt. He's hugged Leonard before, has carried him in his arms, has watched him get thinner as they grew older, yet had never thought of him as fragile before now.

He notices — it's what he's best at, second only to command — but maybe not enough, not when he should have. Perhaps some things have to be touched and held close to truly wrap the mind around.

The feeling of Leonard's hair ticking his nose, of Spock's arm pressing against his spine, their legs just barely touching each other as they mingle in a row — he attempts to hold onto it, but it drifts away from him as his mind gets trapped in the loop again, replaying the images of their reactions over and over again.

_He says the words, the distinction between the phrases "love" and "in love" as he squeezes his wrist so tightly he might dislocate, even fracture something. He feigns a smile as his fingers grow numb, body hunched over with both elbows digging into his thighs._

_The crackling fire rings loudly in his ears, the golden light dancing across Leonard's face beautifully as he stares back, dumbfounded. He shifts his eyes to look over at Spock, statuesque as he holds his breath, gaze dark and unreadable._

_He feels sick. He doesn't let the smile on his face falter, but finds himself looking away and staring at the floating embers as they escape the tendrils of flames, vision becoming unfocused and the surrounding world turning into nothing but a blur of vermilion and black._

_The terror, the vulnerability eating at his insides is enough to devour him entirely as the deafening silence stretches between them for what feels like millennia._

_If he hears either of them speak, the words simply get lost in the popping and snapping of burning firewood._

_Somewhere in the edges of his vision, one of them finally moves — Spock, Leonard, or perhaps both, he doesn't know — but he can't bring himself to turn his head to see, can hardly even breathe steadily._

_The dirt and dried pine needles near his feet crunch mutely, and when he arduously peers up to his left he's met with the sight of Leonard wringing his hands, lips pursed into a thin line as he stands just a foot away._

_The same sound echoes to his right, Spock mirroring Leonard's distance as he stands plainly, shoulders slumped. In the dim light of the fire, the slight, concerned furrow of his brows is just barely visible._

_He can't quite look either of them in the eye._

_He watches Spock, clenching his jaw as he waits — for what he doesn't exactly know. The shift in Spock's stare from sharing his gaze to looking over at Leonard is brief, almost unnoticeable in the flickering light, but Jim catches it and knows it signals something._

_An arm lightly brushes his own, the left side of his body feeling warm and welcomed as Leonard sits beside him on the weathered log. He slowly inhales and holds it in as he turns toward him, meeting Leonard's eyes with his own. Leonard's lips are parted, his expression tethered between soft and nervous as he searches Jim's face._

_Slowly, as if it were happening in slow motion, a hand lowers to settle atop his leg, Leonard's fingers molding to the curve of Jim's thigh gingerly._

_The nickname gets caught in his throat as the fingers around his wrist relax, Jim staring at Leonard while he stares back. He looks thunderstruck._

_Then, tentatively, he looks down and rests his head on Jim's shoulder._

_Long digits skim across the small of Jim's back, palm pressing firmly, as if to hold him in place, to ground him. "Jim," comes Spock's voice, thick and quiet._

_His vision goes blurry again, and he thinks that if it weren't for the stinging in his eyes he probably wouldn't realize he was near weeping at all._

_Speaking easily becomes an impossible task — he could hardly even wrap his lips around the word "Bones" — so he simply turns to Spock and waits._

_Spock holds out his other hand, not breaking the gaze they share as he says, "We feel the same." The firelight casts his brown eyes into a glowing amber._

_Trembling, Jim nods. He takes Spock's hand into his own and grips it gently, emotions that do not belong to him yet feel uncannily familiar flooding his skin. The palm at his back moves up to his shoulder, Spock enfolding him into an embrace._

_For a moment, he stays still, trying to level his breathing, to ignore the hitch in it when he brings in air too fast. Jim shuts his eyes and leans his head to the side, resting his temple against the soft, greying tresses of Leonard's hair._

The sigh that leaves his body is shaky, the muscles in his arm tensing under his pillow as his fingers dig into the fabric.

This feels unreal — like a dream. He can't rid himself of it.

Jim mentally scolds himself, frustrated at the initial uncertainty still sitting in his stomach when he should only be relieved, delighted, and full of unmitigated joy.

Spock must sense the discomfort littering his mind because the arm slung over his waist holds him a little tighter, pulls him a little closer. The sharp bridge of Spock's nose presses at the tender spot beside his shoulder blade.

Some of the unease in Jim's gut begins to dissipate and fall away from the touch, but Leonard's shoulders go stiff by Jim's brow and it all comes back, sharp and unkind. Even in the pitch blackness, Jim can see the rigidness spreading along his body as Leonard curls in on himself slightly.

"Bones?" Jim asks, hardly above a whisper. He rubs the side of his thumb back and forth on Leonard's stomach, pushing his own anxiety aside as much as he is able.

A few quiet moments pass.

Nothing.

Jim had done his best not to dwell on it, but Leonard's talkative demeanor had almost vanished entirely and he'd hardly spoken more than a handful of words for hours, not since he sat beside Jim on the hollowed log and pressed his body against his.

The reason he isn't sure of, though he has some ideas.

"I love you." The word are rough, little more than a murmur, and sudden in expanse of silence surrounding them. "Both of you."

Any other time, any other opportunity, Jim might have cracked a joke — "Would you be in such a precarious position if you didn't, Bones?" — and maybe Spock would have, too — "It is illogical to assume that you do not, Doctor, if our current activity is any indication" — but Jim doesn't dare to part his lips. Spock doesn't seem to, either.

"I have for years. I wish I said it sooner," Leonard continues, his voice so low it would be inaudible, had they lied any farther from him.

The arm encircling Jim's middle pulls away and stretches across, Spock's hand grasping gingerly around Leonard's upper arm. Spock would understand as equally as himself, Jim thinks — love, affection, intimacy had left Leonard avoidant since Natira, embittered since Jocelyn.

Jim presses a kiss against Leonard's nape, feeling Spock's nose shift sideways on his back. Like a collapsing iceberg, the anxiety in his stomach withers away and he whispers, "We're here now."


	2. II

The hum of a starship had once become as natural to Leonard's senses as the breeze of Earth, and while he may be loathe to admit it, its presence was something he found himself missing.

Less than a year since retirement and here he was, crawling back into the endless abyss that left him griping about danger for nearly three decades of service, his concerns met often with rolled eyes, smug grins, and quirked brows.

Looking down at Jim wrapped around him and over at the shadow casting onto the floor from the bathroom, however, is answer enough to why he stepped foot off of Earth again.

Jim's hair is soft between Leonard's fingers, the curls looping around his nails as he mindlessly cards his hand through the greying locks. The strands shine dimly in the dark blue light, intensity high enough to see the wrinkles streaming along Jim's forehead yet low enough to leave him undisturbed from his slumber.

The light sound of his snoring fills the room with the emanating rumble of the ship's warp core, vibrating into Leonard's ribs and on course to grow louder and noisier as the hours pass. Within a few minutes, Leonard's sure that a small puddle of drool will start to soak through his nightshirt.

Taking in a slow and deep breath, Leonard tilts his head back and looks up into the ceiling's spacious window, pinpricks of white in the fabric of space gently passing by. Leonard draws small circles with his spare hand, lines forming lopsidedly as his thumb caresses the arm draped over his stomach.

It's impossible to tell the time by just looking out a ship's window, but he knows it's late, especially for someone as old as he is.

He wonders how Jim manages to still sleep like an adolescent when he's already a couple years into his sixties, out cold for a full nine hours on a good night, either clinging onto one of his partners or sprawled across the entire bed as if it were all for himself.

Maybe he's making up for lost time; for years, Jim hardly slept for more than six hours each night whilst on the Enterprise. Leonard made sure to never let Jim hear the end if it back then, be it on or off duty.

Honestly, he wishes he could switch off with the immediacy of a lamp like Jim is practically able to, but he lies wide awake, not an ounce of fatigue weighing down his body. The slow shifting of distant stars is mesmerizing, but it does little to fill his mind with tiredness as he stares.

The sound of running water starts and then stops within seconds, and soon a silhouetted figure emerges from the bathroom's golden glow.

The movement draws Leonard's eyes forward again and he meets the sight of the tall form standing just outside the door, head facing toward him but the rest of his body turned slightly away.

Of course, then there's Spock, whose Vulcan neurology allows him to control nearly any aspect of his sleeping cycles. It was initially nothing short of baffling at first — watching Spock fall asleep by closing his eyes and concentrating for just a few moments before his entire body goes slack — but now it's merely normal.

Not to say that Spock has it perfect; given that he's preoccupied or distressed, he'll go days without sleep, much to both Leonard and Jim's worry. After the past several months, though, Leonard notices it happening less and less, and he tries to keep it that way.

Leaving the Fleet and living planetside has certainly made their lives calmer — more gardening, less explosions — and it's improved their health, as Leonard is apt to remind them. Interstellar travel has become a special occasion rather than a daily occurrence for them, and as much as they loved their dear Enterprise, she was often a conduit of stress.

They miss her, though, too many treasured memories of her, too many beloved people assigned to her for them not to.

Spock steps forward, the warm light behind him slowly fading out as he departs from it. Soft shadows blanket the folds of his loose shirt, the blacks of his nightwear painted into a faint navy in the dim ceiling light.

Leonard pauses in his idle movements on Jim's skin, pulling his hand away from Jim's arm and holding it out, folding his ring and pinky fingers under his thumb. As Spock reaches his side of the bed, he brings his own hand forward to meet Leonard's fingertips, sitting onto the mattress in one elegant motion.

There's a slight spark at the contact that runs through Leonard's spine, crawling up his brain stem and settling at the base of his skull with a welcome tingling sensation. Spock gazes at him with a soft and subdued expression, but the emotions flooding his senses belie it easily.

"You appear contemplative," Spock says, voice quiet as he slides his fingers down Leonard's inner knuckles. It earns him a shiver, and after an elongated moment, Leonard curls his fingers around Spock's before separating their hands.

"I do?" Leonard asks, readjusting his head on the pillow. A shining glimmer at Spock's breastbone catches his attention, and Leonard reaches out for it. The polished ring hanging from its thin, silver chain clinks against Leonard's own wedding band, equally shiny and new.

Spock glances down for a brief moment before looking at Leonard's face again. A brow rises just slightly. "Indeed."

Leonard traces an edge of the ring with the side of his finger. He blinks up at Spock, quickly scanning the top of his head for any hint of white hair intruding on that cap of black, but finds not a single strand. "I suppose I was getting a little lost in thought," he finally says. The fabric of Spock's shirt is gentle against the back of his hand.

Lowering his hand, Spock brushes Leonard's forehead, pushing up a few stray locks that had fallen down to Leonard's brow. His hand settles on the pillow beside Leonard's temple, tucking hair behind his ear. "Tell me."

Leonard smiles a little, spinning the ring between his fingertips. He rolls his head to his right, looking down at Jim and gingerly dragging his nails across his scalp. Jim nuzzles his head, humming at the sensation in the midst of his dreams. Pinned between their torsos is Jim's left arm, hand loosely resting on his hip, ring finger adorned with white gold.

After a long exhale, Leonard returns his gaze to Spock. "Wondering how I ended up back in space, mostly."

Whatever is left unspoken in that sentence is effortlessly picked up by Spock, his tone hinting just the slightest of playfulness when he says, "I have wondered for many years why one who so greatly dislikes outer space would center his career in it."

For a brief moment, it feels like they're on the bridge again, caught in the throes of the first five-year mission, Jim sitting in the captain's chair and Spock and himself standing at either side. Leonard's smile widens.

"Did your logic guide you to an answer, Spock?"

Both of his brows rise high onto his forehead. "Leonard, you are well aware that logic hardly applies to humans, particularly humans as illogical as yourself," Spock quips with an almost audible warmth, his thumb stroking along Leonard's cheekbone.

A few years ago he would have bristled at such words, but now he simply finds comfort in the old-fashioned jab. He leans slightly into the caress on his face, casting his eyes down. "Space and I are far from friends, but it gave me you and it gave me Jim. I'm thankful for that."

An overwhelming wave of love floods his head after he speaks, and the suddenness of Spock's reciprocated adoration makes him gasp a bit. Another pleased hum vibrates into his ribs, the intense emotions likely having been transferred to Jim as well.

He's long since learned the hard way of how strongly Spock feels — sharing your braincase with someone other than yourself makes such a thing difficult to forget — yet he still finds himself off-guard when Spock touches him so unashamedly.

In the faint light, Leonard is certain a small smile is pulling at Spock's lips.

This damn Vulcan.

"If I may be so bold," Spock begins, the emotions seeping from his fingertips lowering to a simmer, "you aren't as distressed as I expected you to be after a day such as this."

Leonard looks back down at Spock's ring, slipping the tip of his index finger into it. "Me, too," he says, the amusement he attempts to inflect his words with falling flat. "I should have expected this, Jim proposing. Why else would he drag us onto a cruise ship?"

"Unlike you, he has always been fond of space."

That earns him a scoff. "Jim loves the mountains almost as much as he loves hopping stars," Leonard replies, making eye contact with Spock again. "We go on camping trips for vacation, not space cruising. His intentions were obvious and I just…"

His sentence teeters off, unfinished. The two of them pause, Jim's steady breathing filling the silence.

Spock regards him carefully, delicately stroking Leonard's cheekbone again. The subtle smile is gone, replaced with something more concerned. His voice is horribly quiet when he states, "Your previous marriages."

Leonard deflates with a sigh, his eyelids falling shut. He taps the shiny band around his ring finger against the aged heirloom around his pinky, a muted clink prefacing his next words. "I just never thought I'd wear a wedding ring again."

A beat. Hesitance bleeds into his skin before Spock asks, "Do you regret accepting?"

"No," Leonard is quick to answer, opening his eyes and looking up at Spock.

The sensation of tears flowing from his face like a never ending torrent, the way he could only nod a few short times because he knew speaking would be an impossible task is still very fresh in his mind, as if it had only happened a few moments ago.

"I could never regret something like that. Not with Jim."

Leonard feels understanding settle inside his body, Spock's empathy becoming his own.

_Jim wringing his hands together after a barely-eaten meal. Them following him with their eyes as he rises from his seat and circles the table to stand between them. Leonard feeling his heart skip over and over as Jim gets down on one knee. Spock no longer breathing, hardly functioning at all as they watch Jim pull a pair of rings from his breast pocket and present them with that single question._

_A hush forming around them as the moment Jim finishes speaking stretches on for what feels like an eternity. Sly glances no longer being thrown their way, long and anticipated stares replacing them._

_The roar of applause ringing in their ears when Leonard finally nods and Spock whispers, "Yes."_

Being able to share the emotions, to feel them happening to himself and to one that he loves, helps him begin to relax, begin to truly take it all on in and let it hit him. It downright feels as if Jim gave them all the stars themselves.

 _Jim has always been such a romantic,_ Leonard thinks.

 _Very much so,_ Spock agrees.

Leonard's lips begin to pull into a small grin again, and he tugs just a little on the necklace around Spock's neck, his finger still curled in it. "You never regret anything, do you?"

Spock leans down, his lips nearly grazing Leonard's nose as he says, "I do not, Leonard."

Leonard tilts his head, grin growing wider. "You're a terrible liar, Spock."

"Vulcans cannot tell a lie."

As if he hadn't heard that hundreds of times over the past thirty years. Leonard knows better — intimately so.

A chuckle. "Kiss me, you old fool."

Spock does.


	3. III

It is the rhythmic sound of rain pattering onto the house that awakens Spock.

His eyes flutter open, a bleariness obstructing his vision as he blinks sleep away in the dim light of the bedroom. The ceiling, low and slightly arched, looks back at him, toasted chestnut wood panels appearing dark and maroon in the low light. He rolls his head to the side just slightly, gazing over at the window.

A sizeable sliver of the window pane is visible between the long, burgundy drapes, the skies a stark navy blue and the thick clouds cloaking distant stars from view.

Spock stares at the droplets clinging to the thin glass, watching them as they roll down the surface and pool at the bottom. The faint illumination from the standing lamp — tucked in the farthest corner of the room, away from the bed, set to low intensity — is enough to give shape to the water coating the pane.

Even without a clock to confirm the time, he can easily ascertain the earliness of his waking, the beginnings of the rising sun peeking over the mountains with its pale glow. The denseness of the clouds dissipate any particle of cerulean blue that would usually greet the eastern horizon, replaced with a grey haze more akin to fog.

He was the first to retire to bed last night, bidding Jim and Leonard good night and leaving them to enjoy another's company alone. While he was tired and had little reason to remain awake late into the night, Spock also desired for a moment to meditate, to quiet his mind before settling under the covers. In Leonard's own words, they all had had a long week.

Looking down at his hands resting over his stomach, he pinches the cuff of his nightshirt's left sleeve, carefully doing so so as to not disturb the fingers wrapped over his own. Jim's index and middle fingers hook in between Spock's, body heat seeping through their clothing with Jim pressed up against his side.

Jim's snoring is loud — particularly so with his mouth so close to Spock's ear — and he wonders if Leonard had hit him with one of the decorative pillows at some point that night. He'd look over the edge of Jim's side of the bed for evidence of such, but he's practically pinned to the mattress, Jim's spare arm curled around the crook of his elbow and Leonard's legs mingling with his own like tangled vines.

He is unsure of when they climbed into bed with him, though he suspects it was long after he had fallen asleep. It's almost customary now for their Saturdays to end this way, the scent of red wine lingering on his partners' sleeping breaths as they cling onto him in the middle of the night. In spite of being retired, they manage to keep themselves busy throughout the week, and only seem to catch a moment to rest on the weekends.

Jim tends to the horses, washing them and cleaning the stable, feeding them and going out for a ride every other day. Lately, in preparation for the approaching winter season, he also spends hours on end chopping firewood the old-fashioned way. He's usually rewarded with a washcloth and a glass of sweet tea when he comes inside, exhausted, beads of sweat clinging to his brow.

When Leonard isn't cleaning house or hunched over his desk with a medical report three months in the works, he's vanished into the sea of _Helianthus annuus_ beside the cabin, the sunflowers standing so tall that the top of his straw hat is just barely visible. He reemerges with a basketful of black hulls and a pair of dirtied sheers, fingertips dyed bright yellow.

Spock busies himself inside the greenhouse, planting and watering and weeding and pruning. He does it not only for his scientific curiosity of botany but also for their primary produce supply, collecting a variety of vegetables, fruits, and herbs to be washed and stored accordingly.

It was perhaps only a matter of time until Spock became the main cook of the house, typically preparing breakfast, lunch, and dinner day after day with his spouses occupied as such with other tasks. They've had a food synthesizer since they moved in, but Jim and Leonard both agree that fresh, hand-made meals are much, much more satisfying.

After years of serving on the Enterprise and living almost completely off of diet cards, Spock doesn't exactly disagree.

Cooking is hardly a burden. He's quite adept at it, actually, and both of his partners appear to be greatly appreciative during every meal that Spock cooks alone.

However, he isn't reluctant to say that the activity is definitely more enjoyable with company — Leonard bumping their shoulders together as they cook dinner a few times a week — or even when someone else tends to the task before him — Jim bringing breakfast on silver trays to the bedroom as Spock and Leonard begin to wake up on lazy Sunday mornings.

There are occasions, however, where their routine is disrupted and chores become — for lack of a better term — reassigned. Every few months, one or two of them are requested for guest lectures and presentations at the Academy, very rarely with all three of them leaving for San Francisco at the same time. Any one of them could be gone for a day or an entire week, and the house always feels much emptier for it.

By the time the weekend arrives and they've spent the entirety of Saturday's daylight doing laundry and cleaning the cabin, the idea of simply relaxing beside one another sounds like the greatest gift any of them could ask for.

They spent yesterday evening simply, Jim and Leonard treating themselves to a bottle of Merlot as the sun began to set, all three of them resting on the sofa with their feet propped atop the ottoman, a throw blanket shielding their laps from the autumnal chill as they watched an old Earth film from the 21st century.

Leonard had sat in the center, cradling a large wineglass to his chest as he soaked in the heat of the pair of bodies on either side of him. Resting his head on Leonard's shoulder, Jim had curled up against their partner's thin frame as if he were huddling for warmth, stomach already filled with a glass or two of drink.

Spock kept his thigh flush against Leonard's for the entirety of the film, his hand settled atop the red plaid blanket stretched over Leonard's lap, palm curving to the shape of his right leg as if it were meant to be there.

Throughout the evening, Spock's fingertips would occasionally brush Jim's as their hands lied beside each other on Leonard's thighs. Each touch came with a unique spark, a clarity of emotional transference that can only be provided through skin touching skin.

Sparing a few glances to his left, Spock caught the contented smiles of Jim and Leonard's faces, each mirroring the gentle emotions flowing into Spock's skin and enfolding his senses in an unguarded, tender embrace.

 _We love you,_ he could feel them thinking.

He doesn't recall much of the film itself.

Stroking the shirt cuff with his thumb and absentmindedly calculating the thread count of the fabric, Spock takes in a deep breath. The ring hanging from his neck tickles the hollow of his throat, the chain bundling up along his collarbones. He peers at the window again.

The rain outside continues, a brief flash of lightning left unfollowed by a rumble of thunder in the distance. Dark grey clouds gradually become a deep purple, the golds of the sunflower field peeking at the bottom of the window having vanished behind a shroud of mist.

He exhales, letting out a long, whispered sigh.

The sound causes Jim to shift suddenly, the grip on Spock's fingers tightening for a brief moment. Spock gazes to the side, turning his head to look at Jim properly.

The light is dim, but he can make out the contours of Jim's face halfway buried into the thick pillow, his mouth slightly ajar and hair a tousled mess. The collar of his juniper T-shirt is off-center, the hem pulled right up against his neck on one side and sitting loosely over his shoulder on the other, revealing the soft dip behind his collarbone. His eyes move rapidly behind his eyelids.

Spock moves his middle finger, gently rubbing the side of the digit along the smooth, warm metal of Jim's wedding band. Jim murmurs something in his sleep, but the jumble of words is incomprehensible.

There's a twinge in Spock's chest, but he tries to ignore it as he rolls his head to the other side.

His chin brushes against Leonard's hair, a few stray locks having settled on his shoulder as Leonard presses his forehead against Spock's upper arm. He hardly snores at all, the only sounds being the tiniest of snuffles at the back of his throat. Beneath the bedsheets, Spock can feel Leonard's knuckles grazing the sliver of bare skin above his trousers. His other hand is curled up to his chest, fingers bent under his chin.

Spock can't see him as well as he could Jim, the top of Leonard's head and his cheek being the only parts of his face not hidden behind Spock's own arm. A fluttering movement atop his cheekbone, Spock realizes, is Leonard's lashes moving with the back-and-forth of his eyes.

He lets go of his sleeve and brings his hand to Leonard's waist, stroking along the curve of his body with the backs of his fingers. Leonard breathes in deeply, nestling his cheek into Spock's arm in response.

Tearing his gaze away, Spock stares up at the ceiling and scans the looping patterns of its grained surface before letting his eyelids fall shut.

The bond — it's flooded with a plethora of emotions, intermingling and melding together into an endless stream. He takes them in easily, the waves coming to him in the messy, conflicting, human way that his t'hy'la, his ashayam so often are.

Individually, they are difficult to decipher and differentiate from one another — all so caught within the throes of dreaming — but Spock simply latches onto the ones that ring the loudest, lets himself bathe in them, merges them with his own.

_Nostalgia, wonder, curiosity._

_Desperation, dread, despair._

_Confusion, disbelief, frustration._

_Relief, laughter, passion._

_Devotion, affection, love._

A small mewl at the other end of the room interrupts his reverie, and as he opens his eyes the door slowly edges open, simply revealing the dark shadows of the hall behind it. A series of light pattering noises reaches Spock's ears and, for a brief moment, go silent before the visitor lands on top of the mattress soundlessly.

The cat carefully walks around Jim's feet and looks up at Spock after she stops at his ankles, Spock merely raising a brow at her in response. She seems to take that as a signal and steps onto Spock's shins, following up the length of his legs — earning her a few involuntary facial twitches — until her front paws are planted at the center of his breastbone.

"Ceres—" Spock begins to speak quietly, but is stopped short by the guest rubbing her face against his, dragging her whiskers over his cheek repeatedly. He notes the silk-like quality of her fur as she covers him with her scent, yet pulls his head away from her before he gets any black strands caught inside his nose.

She stops, casually bringing her back paws forward and starting to lightly knead at Spock's chest, purring all the while. Her claws poke through his nightshirt over and over, and he tolerates the prickling sensation assaulting his ribs, waiting patiently for her to finish.

Ceres makes eye contact with him, watching his face with her big, yellow eyes as she pulls her claws out of his clothes. She settles on top of him, bringing her paws underneath her body and nestling her head beside his clavicle.

She feels warm.

Spock observes her for a few seconds before lying his head back, sighing through his nose. He won't be getting out of bed any time soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a shortage of old married McSpirk in this fanbase, I feel, so I wanted to remedy that a little. I would like to thank my dear friend [Alan](http://jacksondeforestkelley.tumblr.com/) for giving me many of the ideas used in this piece.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading! Any kind of feedback is greatly appreciated, be it kudos or comments! ♡


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